


Absolution

by BarqueBatch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And I just have feels to get out, Angst, Damn it damn it damn it, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Gen, I am so pissed at Mary, I needed to vent it, Johnlock Roulette, Missing Scene, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarqueBatch/pseuds/BarqueBatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft tries to understand how Sherlock could throw his life away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Glassy. Too glassy.

Mycroft stared across the table at his younger brother, searching for a way to understand. Sherlock’s eyes weren’t this glassy when he was high at the beginning of this whole disaster. When had he last seen his brother in shock? It wasn’t that he killed a man. Mycroft found out about the escapade to rescue Irene Adler. He had to hand it to Sherlock that he managed to pull one over on him for that long but nothing stayed hidden from Mycroft for long. Especially not with that kind of body count. No, Sherlock held no regret for killing Magnusson. The man currently sitting vacantly across from him with his hands cuffed behind his back was awash in memories and silently mourning.

“What in God’s name were you thinking?”

Sherlock didn’t acknowledge him at all. Were this a normal spat he’d be certain that he was being ignored. Now he couldn’t be sure. Sherlock had just given up everything he’d fought for in one single, impulsive move. Worse, Sherlock knew there was no protection to be had. Too many witnesses and the victim far too high profile. There was no way for Mycroft to sweep this under a rug.

“Sherlock, answer me. Why did you do this? I don’t want to hear about all the poor little different goldfish either. I want you to tell me why I have to tell our mother that her son will likely never step foot inside our family home again.”

Sherlock’s eyes focused upon the table before slowly flicking upward to Mycroft. “Because you didn’t. You’d rather go against your own brother than eliminate a man that dangerous, that detestable. It’s Moriarty all over again, isn’t it Mikey? Me cleaning up a mess that you were unwilling to… again.”

“Damn you, Sherlock, this isn’t like Moriarty at all! Magnusson was an annoyance, but nothing more! You’ve thrown your life completely away for what…? A common assassin. All because she’s married to a man you-

”Mycroft-“

”-are always wanting so desperately to-“

”Shut up-“

”-gain approval and praise from! I told you not to get attached! I told you this was the losing side!”

Sherlock’s eyes blazed as he stared back at Mycroft. “Dragon slayer, remember?”

“Damn it I warned you!” Sherlock gave no reaction as Mycroft slammed his hand down on the table. “I warned you this was coming… and you did it anyway… All for the love of one goldfish.”

“John’s no goldfish,” Sherlock muttered. “Just stop talking. Get it over with. Where are they sending me.”

“The MI6 assignment.” Mycroft rubbed his eyes wearily, his shoulders drooping in resignation. “We both know prison would turn you into a vegetable. Solitary confinement would be the only option and you’d never survive it with your mind intact. I’d rather at least let you go out on your own terms, brother mine.”

“How magnanimous,” Sherlock smirked though his eyes fell away to the floor.

“Those were the only two options, Sherlock. You can’t disappear off to other adventures-”

“You think that’s what this was?!” Sherlock leaned over the table, his lips curling into a snarl. “You think it was a game to me? I watched that man taunt John and threaten him. He threatened John’s wife and child-”

“An assassin, Sherlock!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sherlock hissed back at him. “She is who John chose and he loves her. He loves that child. I swore to protect them and I did! You could have stepped in sooner but you didn’t. This is the end result. There was no other option. As long as he lived, they would be in jeopardy.”

Mycroft leaned in as well then, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “For once, will you stop thinking about John Watson and think about yourself! You are in love with something you can never have!”

The anger drained out of Sherlock. He leaned back in the chair despite his arms being behind him. “Do you think you only just enlightened me to that fact?”

Mycroft leaned back as well, again rubbing his hand over his face. “Oh Sherlock… I fear I’ll never really understand you.”

“Best not to try,” Sherlock warned. They sat in silence for a long moment before Sherlock spoke up again. “Will I get a chance… to see him?”

“I will do my best,” Mycroft sighed. “I can make no guarantees. The conditions surrounding your confinement and release to your assignment are rather stringent. I believe they are expecting me to break you free somehow.”

“They don’t know you at all, do they,” Sherlock huffed wryly. “Should’ve invited them to Christmas. They would have released me out of pure pity for being your brother.”

Continuing to massage his brow, Mycroft frowned without looking up. “This isn’t remotely funny.”

“No, it’s fucking hilarious,” Sherlock corrected sourly. “All your important little friends that Magnusson held under his thumb… They were the ones eager to offer me this death sentence before I shot him and now that they’re free of him, they’re still just cowards.”

“There were too many witnesses, Sherlock! The man was too well known in the media!”

“Kitty Riley with a really good memory and no conscience. Her conscience was skewed and warped but at least she had one. Either way…not exactly head of state.”

“No, people might have actually applauded that.”

Mycroft shook his head as Sherlock just blinked back at him with those almond eyes that were so much their mother’s. He looked exhausted and Mycroft had things he needed to do before Sherlock was sent away. “I need to attend to getting your necessary belongings from Baker Street.”

Again, Sherlock had fallen mute, failing to even nod. Mycroft gazed at him and was about to say more to his little brother when he decided better of it. He turned slowly and left the room.

"What did he mean by death sentence? You said he was being sent on assignment!"

Mycroft stared down at the doorknob still clutched in his palm. "It is classified and none of your concern now."

“Like hell!" John's voice quieted as quickly as it barked out as he changed his approach. "I need to see him, Mycroft. Please… just let me in there for five minutes.”

Mycroft turned on the voice behind him, barely able to contain his anger. “I cannot permit you inside. I’m breaking too many rules as it is allowing you to even stand here to listen to that.”

"Mycroft-"

"No, Dr. Watson."

John squared his shoulders and clenched his fists as he looked from the two way mirror to Myrcroft. “They why did you bother at all if I can’t even speak to him?”

Mycroft’s features darkened as he loomed over John. “Because I wanted you to know. I want there to be no doubt whatsoever as to why Sherlock did what he did.”

“I know why he did it,” John countered angrily, though he was clearly unsettled by what he’d overheard.

“No, you didn’t,” Mycroft scowled, “but you do now.” His eyes shifted to John’s right where Mary stood with tears in her eyes. He stepped closer to her and leaned in, his voice menacing. Sherlock could give her absolution if he wanted. Mycroft had no such inclination.

“You had better earn it, Mrs. Watson. You had better bloody well earn it... every single day of your life.”


	2. Chapter 2

John was never one to dislike flying. Not real flying anyway. Sleek little Pipers or Cesnas were terrific fun in his mind. The world tended to look better when peering at it through the clouds. The time he got to go up in a fighter was one of the highlights of his life. He was quite proud of getting through the whole ride and successfully climbing from the cockpit on steady limbs before promptly depositing his lunch on the side of the tarmac. The pilot had cheerily slapped him on the back and told him he was welcome back anytime but he'd been shot a month later. 

Standing on the tarmac now, John could think of nothing more hateful than the sight of the small private jet before him. 

That plane would soon be taking Sherlock from him. It would be the second time John had lost his best friend. Should it hurt less the second time around, because it didn't. It hurt worse. Far worse. Once again, Sherlock had traded his life for John's well-being. He hated it. He hated the debt, the consequences of the debt and the deep pit of resentment he felt toward Mary for her part in it. He'd forgiven her enough to take her back, but this was a wound that, unlike the bullet hole in Sherlock's chest, might never fully heal. He was hoping for their child's sake that he'd be able to push it aside. He owed his child that, and he certainly owed Sherlock that. To fail would render his friend's selflessness wasted. John wasn't about to let that happen.

The sleek car pulled into view and John squinted against the sunlight to see. It shot along the tarmac and pulled up shy of where he stood with Mary. She was already walking forward as Sherlock stepped from the car. John's stomach rolled a bit as she hugged him and held his face, whispering to him. Sherlock smiled and nodded, whispering something back. John never did understand how Sherlock forgave her so quickly. He claimed Mary didn't shoot to kill him, but John was still fairly insulted by that. He was a doctor for fucksakes. It was a miracle that Sherlock was still alive. So many factors fell to the detective's favor that night, any one of which could have killed him if they'd happened even slightly differently. He could have very well bled out just sitting in Baker Street while he made John try to make sense of what Mary did. He'd sworn that John could trust her. A sliver of John wasn't so sure about that, but again, there was a child hanging in the balance now. Surprisingly, Sherlock seemed to have a hidden soft spot for children... or maybe they just sensed something about him that they couldn't dislike. Little Archie still called regularly to ask when he could visit Sherlock again. John's gut dropped yet again at the thought of telling Archie that his favorite detective was likely not coming back.

John's mind and heart shoved the thought away violently as Sherlock approached him. He paused and spoke to Mycroft. The elder Holmes' brows shot upward and nodded his men away. Mary respectfully turned and followed them, keeping her distance from Mycroft. John gave Sherlock a halfhearted smile, his mind going blank. Nothing seemed the right thing to say. Sherlock also seemed to be searching for something that wouldn't seem hopelessly hollow.

"I can't think of a damn thing to say," John sighed. He shook his head. "I want to though..."

"Yes," Sherlock murmured, bobbing his head. "Many things... more things than I have time to say, I'm afraid."

John nodded. Maybe they were thinking of similar things. Did they need to be said if that was the case? Both looked down at the ground at their feet, both wishing there was more time. John knew that with utter certainty.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Sherlock finally announced, causing John's head to jerk up in surprise.

"What?"

"That's the whole of it," Sherlock smiled down at him with that familiar mischief just behind his eyes. It made John's chest absolutely ache. "Just in case you're pondering baby names..."

The bark of laughter that erupted from John's chest seemed foreign; the sound feeling like it came from elsewhere. "We had a scan... It's a girl."

"Oh..." Sherlock nodded toward the ground again. "Well then there's something I think I should tell you... Something I've longed to say..."

John squinted curiously at his best friend, wanting to say things of his own but afraid he would break. He couldn't send Sherlock off that way. Stoic. He was a soldier. He had training. He could stand tall in the face of this.

"Sherlock is actually a girl's name."

John blinked at him and then a deep snort belched from his throat. "We're not naming our daughter after you," he grunted. The joke should have lightened him, but it didn't. He wanting to scream his frustration. This was wrong. All of it was so wrong.

"Well it was worth a try," Sherlock muttered, his eyes far too soft as they gazed back at John. He inhaled and cleared his throat. "John... Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I feel I need-"

"Bullshit," John interrupted sharply.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as his brow arched. "John?"

"Bullshit," John repeated emphatically. "You're Sherlock fucking Holmes. You're going to go do this assignment. They're going to gravely underestimate you and you're going to pull off what nobody believes is possible. You're going to prove invaluable here as the criminals get too big for their own egos. You're going to come back here, pay your stupid fucking debt to society and then come back to Baker Street so I can pay my stupid fucking debt to you... and that's that."

John glanced at the hateful plane and pursed his lips. "Besides, you have a little girl you have to come back to meet. We're going to need a babysitter sometimes and who better to read molecular theory to than the daughter of a lunatic ex-army doctor and an equally deranged ex-assassin?"

Now it was Sherlock's turn to laugh. "No pressure," he chuckled and John just shrugged.

"None at all," he smiled.

"Fair enough," Sherlock grinned, then sombered and held out his hand. "John."

"Sherlock." John clasped his hand tightly. It didn't seem like he could hold it tightly enough.

"To the very best of times," Sherlock murmured.

"For now," John agreed with his own caveat. It brought the smile back to Sherlock's face and he gave John's hand a firm squeeze.

"For now." He released John's hand and gave a curt not to Mycroft, turning reluctantly toward the plane. John's eyes never left him as he walked up the stairs and disappeared into the ugliest plane John had ever seen. He felt like he couldn't breathe as the engines started up. Mary cautiously stepped closer to him and reached for his hand. For all his anger, he was grateful for the sense of grounding he felt as she tried to comfort him. Thankfully she stayed silent as Sherlock's plane cleared the runway and lifted into the air.

_Please God, let him make it back._

The plane had vanished from sight when John's peripheral caught Mycroft getting out of his car to look at them. John frowned over at him just as he heard his cell beep. He pulled it from his pocket and looked down.

**Miss me? -JM**

The hair on the back of John's neck prickled with dread and his skin grew clammy as Mary's phone beeped as well. He looked at Mycroft. The man's face was confused and a bit ashen. "You said he was dead, Mycroft!"

"He was... IS. I saw the body. Sherlock watched him shoot himself in the head, John."

"So who's doing this?"

Mycroft watched as more information trickled in. "I don't know... but it changes everything." He dialed his phone quickly and John's heart soared as he spoke authoritatively into it.

"Turn around. Bring him back now. We need him."


End file.
